Proving a Theory
by Marie Tomas
Summary: Eleven years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry is approached one evening at the Three Broomsticks by Draco Malfoy, who claims that thanks to the publication of Harry's official biography, everybody in the wizarding world has come up with a very interesting theory about the two of them.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **All recognisable characters and settings belong to J.K. Rowling, the real author of Harry Potter's 'biography'.

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**Proving a Theory**

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"Potter, everybody thinks that we're secretly in love with each other."

They were the first words that Draco Malfoy spoke to Harry Potter after more than a decade of awkward silences, polite nods and one-word greetings whenever their paths crossed in Diagon Alley.

_Everybody thinks that we're secretly in love with each other._

Not, 'Hello, how are you?' or 'Maybe we should try to put the past behind us?' or 'How's your first year as a Hogwarts professor been?'

Just a bizarre statement involving the words 'we', 'in love' and 'with each other'.

It might not have been too bad for Harry, if Malfoy had actually said this line in the middle of a packed Diagon Alley in broad daylight (preferably with Ron and Hermione somewhere close by), but as it happened, he chose to approach Harry not in the middle of a busy street, but instead in an almost empty Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade on a cold September evening.

The fact that Harry was sitting alone at a table in the corner of the pub, coupled with the fact that Malfoy had walked unsteadily towards him looking ever so slightly tipsy before he came out with the strange line, only served to add to Harry's sense of discomfort and confusion.

What was going on? Why was Malfoy bothering to speak to him now, after so many years of silence? And if he had to speak to him, why did he have to start the conversation with a line like that?

"I'm sorry…_w__hat_?" Harry eventually asked, finally able to speak after a few seconds of shocked silence as he stared at the blond with his mouth open and his eyes wide. He could actually feel his heart beating faster. He hadn't felt a similar rush of panic and confusion since his Auror days.

He briefly considered the possibility that he had dozed off at some point between the occasional sip of his drink and was now having some sort of Butterbeer-induced nightmare. It wasn't an entirely implausible idea. He had definitely been trying to stifle a yawn when Madam Rosmerta's husband came over to take his order twenty minutes ago, and he had been staring sleepily out of the window for a few minutes before Draco Malfoy made an appearance.

The first few weeks of term at Hogwarts were always exhausting for the professors, and for the second September in a row, Harry had seen for himself just how tiring Welcome Feasts, Sorting Ceremonies and the organisation of timetables could be now that he was a full-time professor rather than an Auror who made the occasional appearance to teach certain classes.

The whole month had been busy, really, and after a long Friday afternoon of repeatedly telling fifth and seventh year students just how important this academic year would be for them, he had been tempted to crawl into his warm bed immediately after the last class of the day and remain there until Saturday morning.

It had been the desire for a walk and a warm drink that had finally changed his mind, and after less than half an hour of sitting in his room, he had thrown on his robes, half-heartedly tried to comb his hair and headed to Hogsmeade for what he had thought would be a quiet drink at the Three Broomsticks, perhaps with the occasional interruption from Madam Rosmerta or a few of the older professors who often drank at the pub on Friday evenings.

Malfoy exhaled slowly in apparent irritation, as though it were Harry who was staggering around the Three Broomsticks and coming out with ridiculous statements about potentially being in love with his former arch-nemesis, rather than the other way around. "Don't make me repeat it, Potter!" he snapped.

His tone of voice might have sounded slightly threatening, if Harry hadn't still been in a state of shock, and Malfoy hadn't started to sway slightly on the spot.

On the other hand, whenever Harry had been confronted with nightmares about Draco Malfoy in the past (and in the years that followed the Battle of Hogwarts, this had happened more often than he cared to admit), he was never standing over him in a pub looking slightly drunk and dishevelled.

The Malfoy in his dreams was calm and silent, always dressed in smart, expensive-looking black robes with the sleeves rolled up so that the Dark Mark tattoo on his left arm was visible.

In these dreams, which nearly always started out in a dark and misty Diagon Alley, he would glance over in Harry's direction as though he still had something important to tell him, then he would walk through the mist and fog in the direction of Knockturn Alley, whilst Harry would stay rooted to the spot, wondering if he was supposed to follow him.

Back in his Auror days, Harry had seriously considered the possibility that the nightmares were trying to send him some kind of subconscious warning, and for a while, he had watched Malfoy very carefully from a distance on the days when they had both been in Diagon Alley at the same time.

He had even tried to follow him a few times, just to make sure that he wasn't really paying visits to places like Knockturn Alley on a regular basis, but after a while, he had decided that after everything that the Malfoy family had been through after the war, it was highly unlikely that any of them would still be up to anything that could potentially result in a one-way ticket to Azkaban.

Plus, Hermione had started to notice the direction that his eyes always travelled in, and the last thing that he had wanted was a maybe-you're-getting-a-bit-obsessed-with-Malfoy-ag ain-Harry lecture from her and Ron. He had heard enough of that lecture from the two of them during the post-war Death Eater trials.

"_Fine_," Malfoy sighed after a few seconds, causing Harry to snap out of his thoughts about the past. "One more time, okay?" He had apparently interpreted Harry's question and bewildered expression as a request to repeat his opening line.

As Malfoy prepared to speak again, Harry discreetly looked him up and down.

Up close, the real-life Draco Malfoy standing in front of him looked nothing like the version in Harry's dreams. He looked older, which was hardly surprising given that eleven years had passed since they had last been within the walls of Hogwarts at the same time, and his robes looked almost casual compared to his usual choice of designer robes during his teenage years. He also looked more weary, and his once-flawless hair was slightly tousled, as though he had just been walking through the wind and the rain. Which, judging by the noise of the pub windows rattling in the wind, was probably the case. Even the expression on his face was different. The sneer and the look of irritation were still there whenever his eyes caught Harry's, but he also looked less angry than Harry had seen him look in the past, and despite the unsteadiness on his feet, there was an air of maturity about him.

"Everybody," said Malfoy slowly, at the same time spreading his arms wide as though to indicate the whole world, "thinks"-he placed a finger on the side of his head- "that we're"-he pointed from himself to Harry- "secretly"-he put a finger on his lips- "in love" -he placed his hand on his heart before quickly removing it- "with each other." As he finished the sentence, he pointed from himself to Harry again, before grabbing hold of the edge of the table to steady himself.

Well, there had been an air of maturity about him when he was standing there in silence, anyway.

"Trust me, Potter," Malfoy sighed, "I am no happier about this theory than you. I, however, have had more time to process this information…and a few glasses of firewhiskey," he added under his breath.

Harry continued to stare at him with wide eyes. Surely he couldn't be serious? Who could possibly think that he and Draco Malfoy were secretly harbouring any sort of feelings for each other, apart from a once-strong sense of dislike that seemed to have faded into indifference over the years? And even if anybody _had _suggested it, there was no way that Malfoy would ever actually believe it. Something wasn't right about the situation…

"Potter, what _are _you doing?" Malfoy demanded as Harry looked from left to right before turning in his seat to look over his shoulder.

"Looking for Goyle and Parkinson," Harry responded as he turned his head to the side again. "They have to be around here somewhere..."

"But…_why_?" Malfoy asked him, now looking slightly alarmed. He tried to take a step back from the table, but he stumbled slightly and had to stop to grab hold of the chair opposite Harry instead.

"Well, this is some kind of practical joke, isn't it?" Harry asked him, hoping that his voice wasn't shaking. It sounded slightly ridiculous when he said it out loud, but he almost wished that this were in fact the case. He had heard that Malfoy still spent a lot of time with the two former Slytherins, and Ron had commented once that he had seen the three of them drinking together at the Leaky Cauldron. So, in the strange event that Harry was the subject of one of Malfoy's practical jokes, chances were, they would be the ones to help him. "The three of you probably planned it together," he continued to accuse Malfoy, "and after you've annoyed and confused me for long enough, I'm sure that they'll both jump out from wherever they're hiding and you'll all have a good laugh at my expense."

"Don't be ridiculous!" Malfoy scoffed. "Pansy's absolutely terrified of you. She's convinced that you're still holding a grudge against her and that you'll try to send her to Azkaban if she so much as looks at you the wrong way. There's no way that she'd get involved in any sort of joke at your expense. And believe it or not, Goyle has actually developed a new-found sense of respect for you…" Malfoy stopped talking for a second and wrinkled his nose in an expression that could easily be interpreted as disgust, but the neutral expression quickly returned when he caught a glimpse of the look on Harry's face. "Anyway," he continued, "he keeps saying that we should all try to be _nicer _to you now. He even went so far as to suggest that I thank you for-"

Malfoy's eyes widened and he instantly stopped talking, as though he had just said something that he wasn't supposed to say.

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Just when he thought that the situation couldn't get any more awkward...

He had a feeling that he knew what Malfoy had been about to refer to. They had _never _talked about what happened in the Room of Requirement during the Battle of Hogwarts, and Harry had no desire whatsoever to discuss it on a Friday evening at the Three Broomsticks. He was already exhausted enough without the added burden of that conversation.

Judging by the look on Malfoy's face, the feeling was mutual. "As I was saying," he hurriedly continued, "neither of them-or me for that matter-are involved in any sort of practical joke. I think we've outgrown all of that somewhat, Potter, don't you?"

Harry was about to reply when he noticed that Malfoy had grabbed hold of the table again. He wondered how much he had had to drink, and whether he had in fact been sitting somewhere in the pub long before Harry arrived.

If it wasn't a joke, then what was it? Harry ran through several more possibilities in his mind, each one as unlikely as the last.

He could put it all down to drunken rambling, but there was something in Malfoy's facial expressions and tone of voice that seemed to suggest that he knew exactly what he was saying.

On reflection, he probably wasn't up to something that could do any serious damage. Those days had definitely passed, and the Malfoy family had received clear warnings a decade ago about what they could expect if they put anybody in the wizarding world in danger again.

At the same time, it also seemed highly unlikely that Malfoy had innocently and coincidently headed to the Three Broomsticks for a quiet drink at exactly the same time as Harry. There was no mistaking the look of mistrust and barely disguised anger that Madam Rosmerta kept throwing in his direction every time she walked past the table, which strongly suggested that this place wasn't exactly his regular drinking spot.

Yet the idea that he genuinely believed 'everybody's' claim that the two of them were secretly in love with each other and now wanted to discuss this theory seemed completely ludicrous.

If only Ron and Hermione or Ginny or George had been available to meet for a drink. Maybe then Malfoy would have stayed away from him and he could have avoided the stress and tension and enjoyed a few glasses of Butterbeer with his friends.

But then, it wasn't too late to send him away. Harry knew that he could just tell him to take himself and his strange theories away from the table and then he could go back to drinking his Butterbeer in peace. He just had to tell him-

"Maybe you should sit down?" Harry heard himself ask, before he winced internally.

In his head, that line had sounded a lot more like: "Maybe you should go and sit down and sober up somewhere on the other side of the pub, or in another pub, or at home, or anywhere far away from here?"

But out loud, it sounded suspiciously like an invitation for Malfoy to join him at the table.

Malfoy had apparently interpreted the comment in the same way. "Okay, Potter," he said, shooting Harry an almost grateful look before he sat down in the vacant seat opposite him.

Oh well, it was too late to do anything about it now.

Maybe he really was dreaming. That, or he was simply too tired to think about what he said before the words left his lips.

"So…" Harry started to say slowly; surprised by the idea that a part of him was curious to find out who the mysterious 'everybody' was who had been discussing his love life. Or lack of it. He knew from experience that a lot of witches and wizards were rather fascinated with Draco Malfoy, and that certain people liked to talk and gossip about him, but not once had Harry heard anybody mention _this _particular theory. "Who says that we're secretly in love with each other?"

After years of ignoring each other, it seemed so unnatural to Harry to be sitting there having _any_ sort of conversation with his former rival, but at least his question would (hopefully) lead to a more ridiculous and therefore safer area of conversation than other possible topics that Draco Malfoy could have brought up under the influence of firewhiskey, such as accusations about events in the past or a discussion about his trial at the Ministry of Magic.

And of course, Harry felt obliged to silently remind himself, the sooner he found out more details about the theory, the easier it would be to disprove it.

Malfoy shrugged, his eyes inexplicably looking past Harry's shoulder in the direction of the pub door.

Harry heard footsteps, followed by the faint sound of the door gently opening and closing before another awkward silence descended on the table.

"Well, maybe not _everybody_," Malfoy muttered before he went silent.

This was getting ridiculous.

"_Who _says it?" Harry demanded, using the tone of voice that he had once reserved for his interrogations of suspected dark wizards when he worked as an Auror.

"Oh, I don't know," Malfoy replied with a careless wave of the hand as though the precise details were of no particular importance to him. "A few younger witches and wizards at the Leaky Cauldron who were talking about the love lives of famous wizards one evening-"

"I'm sure that you misheard the conversation," Harry commented, refusing to believe that anyone who frequented the Leaky Cauldron would care enough about his love life to discuss it over a few drinks.

"And a few elderly witches who appeared to be writing some sort of article about the inner workings of the mind whilst drinking tea at Madam Puddifoot's the other day," Malfoy continued undeterred. "From what I overheard, they seemed to think that we resorted to arguments and insults as a way of masking some sort of forbidden attraction-"

"Surely they would have had more interesting people to analyse than the two of us?" said Harry as he felt his face heat up slightly. "_If_ this discussion really did happen and you didn't imagine the whole thing-"

"Why would I imagine it, Potter?" Malfoy snapped. "Contrary to what you and Weasley may believe, I haven't completely 'lost it' since the war!"

Harry shifted in his seat, feeling an uncomfortable twinge of guilt. He and Ron _might_ have used those two words during a conversation one afternoon after work a few years ago, after they had spotted Malfoy wandering around Diagon Alley looking lost and miserable and glaring at everyone who walked past him. However, he hadn't known that Malfoy had overheard him.

"The members of The Weird Sisters seem to think so, too," Malfoy persisted as he glared at Harry. "They were singing a strange song about our apparent secret love at the Hog's Head a few weeks ago, and the audience was applauding and singing along as though they agreed with-"

"You must have misinterpreted the lyrics," Harry interrupted him, now certain that his voice was shaking. "Especially if the pub was really noisy or you'd had too much to drink then as well-"

"Possibly," Malfoy shrugged. "But surely I wouldn't have misinterpreted the lyrics ten times over? Theodore Nott had also had a lot to drink and he thought that it would be _hilarious_ to humiliate me by insisting that the band sing the song _repeatedly_," he explained, making sure to add what looked like a disgusted shudder as he finished speaking.

Harry tried not to dwell too much on the idea that one of his (soon to be former) favourite bands had started to sing strange songs about his love life. He could only hope that the performance had been a one-off and that other bands in the wizarding world weren't doing the same thing.

As Malfoy went quiet for a moment, looking deep in thought, Harry made a mental note to pay close attention to the music blasting out of the wireless the next time he was at The Burrow, just in case that particular song was played and he had to distract the Weasleys so that they didn't hear it.

"Anyone else?" Harry asked quietly.

Malfoy smirked slightly before he responded. "There were also a few witches in Flourish and Blotts who had just finished reading a copy of your biography-"

"My biography?" said Harry, hoping more than anything that Malfoy was referring to one of the more obscure versions of the stories about his past that was hidden away on the top shelf of an old bookcase in Flourish and Blotts.

After the war, the book shops of the wizarding world had been inundated with many, _many _different versions of stories about Harry's life, most of them written by authors whom Harry had never even met, let alone had a conversation with.

Every 'exclusive-and-one-hundred-per-cent-factually-corr ect' book seemed to tell a different story, especially when it came to speculation about what had happened to Harry Potter after the defeat of Voldemort.

A few of the books had stuck with more plausible theories, claiming that he had returned to Hogwarts to complete his NEWTs and had then decided to stay on as the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, or that he had gone straight into the Auror training programme.

Other versions suggested that he was in training to play for a well-known Quidditch team and that he hoped to make an appearance at the next Quidditch World Cup.

There were a few that went for more alternative angles, claiming that Harry had decided to train as a Healer at St Mungo's, or even that he had skipped off into the sunset with a girl who sounded a lot like Luna Lovegood and had then spent several years travelling the world, writing books about magical creatures.

A few years ago, Hermione had come across a book which told a sad story of how Harry Potter had become almost reclusive in the years that followed the war, struggling to find his place in the wizarding world after Voldemort's defeat.

It would have made for depressing reading, if Harry hadn't been sitting at the kitchen table at The Burrow at the time, with Ron, George and Lee Jordan jokingly reading out extracts from the other side of the room.

Even Rita Skeeter had gotten in on the act, publishing her own unique interpretation of Harry's life in less than a month after the final battle, which in Harry, Ron and Hermione's opinion, had taken the word 'insensitive' to a whole new level.

Harry had found Rita Skeeter's book one day when he was shopping with Hermione in Diagon Alley, and she had dragged him yet again into Flourish and Blotts. He had decided to flick through the pages, half-hoping to find some sort of false claim in there that was so outrageous that Hermione would just _have _to use her influence in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to try to stop any further publications.

However, he hadn't even got past the introduction when he had already read numerous not-so-subtle hints that The Chosen One was completely unbalanced after the war and still desperately craving attention, and he had been unable to force himself to read any further. Instead, he had settled for slamming the book shut and angrily shoving it to the back of the shelf.

"Yes, Potter, the official books about your life that make up your biography," Malfoy sighed impatiently. "You know, the ones you signed the publication contracts for? The ones you made a _fortune _from…" As he said the last part of the sentence, an unmistakeable sneer formed at the corner of his lips.

Harry felt a brief rush of anger, but he was in no way shocked by Malfoy's look of disapproval. It was the same look that crossed the faces of many of the former Slytherins whenever they were having whispered conversations about Harry's decision to allow the official publication of the books about his Hogwarts years.

As far as most of them were concerned, the whole thing had been yet another bid for money and publicity, and as usual, it looked like Malfoy agreed with their opinions.

One of the reasons why Harry had finally decided to sign the contracts and give detailed interviews about his past was because he had hoped to put an end to the constant rumours, lies and speculation about his years at Hogwarts, and also to end the almost daily harassment from journalists and photographers whenever he went out in public.

He _had _been paid a decent amount of money for the publication rights, but he had always believed that he had put the gold to good use, using some of it to help with the rebuilding of Hogwarts and to make discreet donations to St Mungo's to help treat the victims of the Battle of Hogwarts, and then he had used the rest of it to open a vault at Gringotts for his godson and later his goddaughter.

Harry had therefore never allowed the negative comments to cause him to feel any sort of regret about his choice...

"Well," Malfoy continued, "regardless of what I think about you making a fortune from the publication rights, most of the witches and wizards I've just mentioned seemed to have found all of the evidence for their theory in your official story."

However, if Harry had known ten years ago that this decision to allow the publication of his account of his time at Hogwarts would one day lead to widespread speculation that he was secretly in love with Draco Malfoy, he would definitely have had second thoughts before he signed that contract.

"Sorry, Malfoy," Harry told him, deciding that it probably wasn't worth the hassle of getting into an argument with a former Slytherin about his personal reasons for selling the publication rights, "but there's _nothing _in my official story that could be used as evidence to suggest that our feelings for each other ever went beyond dislike." Harry tried to shrug casually as he said it, desperately wanting to appear relaxed and in control of the situation, even though another inexplicable feeling of panic was starting to rise in his chest.

"Well, that's what _I _thought as well," Malfoy drawled. "But after a while, I was _so _intrigued by this theory that I decided to look into it further. So, I read your official biography-"

"You did _what_?" Harry spluttered, completely forgetting that he was supposed to be calm and in control.

This was worse than he had first thought.

Harry had never really dwelled on the idea that hundreds, maybe thousands of strangers had read personal details about his life. Most of them were people who he would never actually meet, and he had always hoped that they would focus more on the fight against Voldemort and the Death Eaters than his private life.

He had also never worried about the fact that Ron, Hermione, other former Gryffindors and Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs had read the stories. Most of them had been there to experience the events first-hand anyway, and Harry had spoken to a few of them before he gave the interviews, so that they could have some control over how much information about their time at Hogwarts was published.

He had known that a lot of his former classmates would read stories about his life, but he had never considered the possibility that Draco Malfoy would ever be interested in reading one of the books.

Now that he knew that this had happened, Harry felt the same type of anxiety that he was sure people who kept a diary must feel when somebody they disliked decided to steal it and read through the personal and embarrassing entries.

"That's right, Potter," Malfoy smirked. Harry knew from personal experience that Malfoy had always been better than anyone he knew at anticipating potential moments of discomfort or embarrassment and using them to his advantage, and it looked like this moment was no exception. "Every single chapter." He smirked again.

Harry tried to focus his eyes on his almost empty glass of Butterbeer, at the same time hoping that he was only imagining a second rush of heat to his face.

"Well, sort of…" Malfoy continued, as Harry looked at him again, feeling even more bewildered. "There _were _a lot of books. They're not planning on publishing any more, are they?" He asked the question with a pained expression before he paused briefly to roll his eyes. "It would be nice to go to Diagon Alley one summer and _not _be forced to witness the hordes of screaming fans outside Flourish and Blotts waiting for yet another edition-"

"It wasn't exactly a fun experience for me, either!" Harry snapped at him. "I was staying in Diagon Alley last July, and I couldn't sleep at all the night they released-"

"Poor Potter," Malfoy interjected sarcastically, "can't sleep at night in one of his many homes because he's being kept awake by the sound of adoring fans screaming his name. Can't close the door to his Gringotts vault because there's too much gold inside. Can't open a book without being forced to read about how much of a hero he-"

"And people _seriously_ think that I'm secretly in love with you?" Harry asked him incredulously.

Malfoy shrugged. "The witches at Madam Puddifoot's were writing notes about how deep down, you crave someone like me to be honest with you and keep that huge ego of yours in check."

In any other circumstances, Harry might have laughed. But this definitely wasn't a normal situation, and this was Draco Malfoy who he was dealing with, after all. Instead of smiling, Harry glared at him.

"Oh, okay," Malfoy admitted, "they didn't exactly write 'huge ego', but I read between the lines, and you have to admit that the I-couldn't-sleep comment that you've just made was slightly egotistical…"

Harry decided that it would probably be pointless to mention that he had in fact been staying the night at George and Angelina's flat above George's joke shop in Diagon Alley, and he had been forced to drag himself out of bed feeling exhausted early the following morning after a sleepless night so that he could help out in the shop.

Instead, he opted for a slightly more neutral response: "No, they won't be publishing any more stories…unless I take on another dark wizard in the next few years," he finished, not even trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

"So, how does your official story end?" Malfoy asked with a hint of sarcasm in his own voice.

Harry stared at him, wondering if this was supposed to be some kind of trick question. "At the end of the Battle of Hogwarts…" he said slowly, as though he were talking to a child. "You were _there_, remember?"

"I _know_," Malfoy responded with another sigh of exasperation. "I meant _after_ that, Nott and Zabini said that there was something else in one of the books…"

Harry felt another flush of embarrassment as he had a sudden vision of Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini and several other Slytherins sitting in a room together reading his story, no doubt having a good laugh about it or angrily claiming that most of it wasn't true.

"Well, according to the biography that was published in the Muggle world, it was predicted that I'd marry Ginny," Harry told him seriously. "Perhaps Nott and Zabini read-"

He paused for a second to look at Malfoy, and he was surprised to see that he actually looked like he might vomit. Harry would have put this down to a few too many firewhiskies, until…

"Potter," he said slowly, his tone of voice full of disgust, "you actually allowed your biography to be published in the _Muggle world_? What happened? Were you not getting enough attention in the wizarding world? Did you need all of the Muggles to stare at you in adoration, too?"

Harry was suddenly aware that his embarrassment was rapidly being replaced with flashes of anger. He gripped the side of his chair tightly with both hands, at the same time silently reminding himself that it would no longer be socially acceptable to threaten to hex Malfoy in such a public place. He also felt somewhat surprised that after all this time, Malfoy was still able to provoke this once-familiar feeling of anger.

All of a sudden, Malfoy's eyes widened slightly in realisation, as though he had only just processed what Harry had said. "You marry Ginevra Weasley?" he asked, at the same time looking frantically behind Harry in the direction of the door, as though he expected Ginny to charge into the Three Broomsticks and run at him with her wand raised.

Harry wasn't quite sure that this speculation about his possible future wife really merited such a negative reaction. He _liked _that particular prediction. It was such a happy ending, and it made it look as though he would know exactly what he was doing and where he was going as he got older, and that he already had his life perfectly planned out.

It was also a happier ending than one which involved solitary drinks in Hogsmeade on cold Friday evenings.

Besides, Ginny was still his friend. She frequently joined him when he went out for drinks with Ron and Hermione or Seamus, Dean and Neville, she occasionally strolled around the shops in Hogsmeade with him on the weekends when she came to visit Hogwarts and Harry went with Ron and the rest of the Weasleys to watch Ginny's Quidditch matches as often as he could.

A year after the Battle of Hogwarts, when Harry had first started to give interviews about the war, and he and Ginny had finally decided to officially get back together, he had been fairly convinced that the predictions in the _Daily Prophet_ of a happy ending with Ginny were going to come true.

But now, even though she was his friend, she wasn't his wife.

It was only after three or four years of an on-again-off-again relationship that Harry had started to question the realistic possibility of the prediction of a fairy tale ending actually coming true, and over the past few years, as the two of them had progressed in their very different careers, the relationship had definitely been more 'off' than it had been 'on'.

Harry had never been able to pinpoint the exact reasons why the relationship hadn't worked out in the long-term. Hermione had always put it down to pressure from the press, and in particular the fact that the _Daily Prophet _journalists had already started to guess the names of their future children before the Weasleys had even come to terms with what had happened during the Battle of Hogwarts, but Harry wasn't entirely convinced that this had been the only reason. Deep down, he knew that he could have lived with the constant publicity and speculation, if the relationship had been what he really wanted after the war.

After one of their break ups, a few of his friends had suggested that he should try to go out with other women, just in case he felt as though he were missing out on something, but most of the dates had never progressed beyond dull or strained conversations over dinner, and after a while, Harry had accepted the fact that even though he definitely felt like something was still missing from his life, he wasn't going to find it with the women he asked out on dates. He had also decided that he would perhaps be better off staying single for a while, until he worked out what it was that he wanted.

Now that he thought about it, he hadn't been out on a date since he started to teach at Hogwarts. Stranger than that was the realisation that until Draco Malfoy showed up at his table, he hadn't even cared about his non-existent love life or given it a second thought for a long time.

"_Did_ you marry her?" Malfoy asked him, looking like he was getting ready to stand up.

Harry suddenly realised that he now had a way out of this strange situation, if he wanted to take it. All he had to do was nod or say something about being engaged or in a long-term relationship, maybe even pretend that he was waiting to meet Ginny at the Three Broomsticks, and without a doubt, Malfoy would hurriedly get up out of his seat and leave Harry alone.

It would be so easy, he just had to say yes-

Harry felt his head move slightly, like he was shaking it to say no. Then, for some reason, he lifted his hand as though to prove that there was no ring on his finger.

_Why_ had he just done that? He didn't _want _to be having this awkward conversation, did he?

Malfoy exhaled slightly, and if Harry didn't know better, he would have said that he looked relieved. "Somehow, I'm not surprised," he replied in a smug tone of voice.

"But, surely you would have known something about a possible engagement to Ginny, if you really _had _read my biography?" Harry asked him, deciding not to react to Malfoy's smug smirk and knowing expression, and now considering the possibility that Malfoy was perhaps bluffing to get a reaction and hadn't actually read anything about his life after all.

"Well, I have to admit, I got rather _bored _of reading about you after a while," Malfoy shrugged unapologetically. "So in the end, I just read the chapters where my name was mentioned."

"Of course you did," Harry muttered, not at all surprised by this revelation.

Malfoy smirked again, and Harry had a feeling that even more insults were about to be thrown around now that it seemed like they were going to discuss the finer details of his biography.

"The chapters made for some _very _interesting reading, Potter," Malfoy informed him with a raised eyebrow. "Especially when it came to proving everybody's theory…"

"Really?" Harry asked him uncertainly, feeling somewhat surprised that he had unknowingly leaned further forward in his seat. Almost as if he wanted to hear more about this strange-and-definitely-not-true theory.

_You don't, do you? _a concerned voice in Harry's head that sounded a bit like Ron asked him. _What does it matter what people think anyway, mate?_

_More importantly, _another voice that sounded a lot like Hermione asked him, _you don't actually believe that there could be any truth to this theory …do you?_


	2. Chapter 2

Harry expected a detailed discussion (or argument) about his biography to begin right away, but unfortunately, another awkward silence descended on the table.

"So, you read a few chapters of my biography?" Harry prompted, deciding that maybe, just maybe, he preferred arguing with Malfoy to sitting in silence with him.

Malfoy nodded quickly, but he didn't offer any further response.

"What did you think of it?" Harry asked him, before he could stop himself. He realised as he said it out loud just how ridiculous a question it was to ask a former Slytherin. Judging by the way that Malfoy's lips curled into a sneer, he was sure that he already had his answer.

"I'm afraid I came across rather badly," he told Harry with a sigh.

"_Really_?" Harry asked, unable to keep the biting sarcasm out of his voice. He could almost imagine Ron sitting next to him, his eyes wide in shock at the idea that Malfoy actually sounded surprised by his portrayal in Harry's stories. "I don't know _how _that happened," he continued. "After all, you were always so pleasant and easy-going when we were at Hogwarts…"

Anger flashed across Malfoy's face as he moved forward slightly in his seat. "Do you not think that I was hated enough after the Battle of Hogwarts, Potter?" he hissed. "You don't think that I already had to deal with enough glares and insulting comments every time I stepped out in public?" He sat back in his seat, keeping his glare fixed on Harry.

It wasn't as though Harry had expected a positive response, but he was slightly surprised by just how furious Malfoy looked. He tried for a few seconds to think of something more encouraging to say, silently asking himself yet again why he was even having this conversation.

Before he had the chance to say anything, Malfoy started talking again. "You just _had_ to turn a whole new generation of witches and wizards against me as well, didn't you, Potter?"

Even though Malfoy was probably unaware of it, Harry knew that this statement wasn't exactly true. For reasons unknown to Harry, Draco Malfoy seemed to have built up quite a following in the wizarding world since the publication of his official biography, mainly among witches and wizards who were at least seven years younger than he was and had therefore been lucky enough to avoid spending any time with him during his Hogwarts years.

On several occasions, Harry had been stopped in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade by groups of over-enthusiastic witches so that they could ask him how _Dra-co _was doing, most of them pronouncing his name slowly and reverently, drawing out every syllable and giggling as they did so. He had lost count of the number of times that he had been forced to inform teenage witches that he and _Dra-co_ hadn't actually spoken to each other for years.

Worse than that were the ones who took it upon themselves to put all of the blame on Harry for Malfoy's behaviour at Hogwarts.

"He just wanted to be your friend!" a few witches and wizards had shouted at him one afternoon in Diagon Alley as he and Ron tried their best to walk in the direction of the Leaky Cauldron. After Ron made the mistake of stopping and attempting to respond to this accusation, the two of them had been forced to listen to several suggestions that Draco was a good person really, very deep down, and that he also longed for Harry's approval, somewhere very deep down, before Ron put an end to the conversation by 'helpfully' suggesting that every member of the group should probably pay a visit to St Mungo's.

There was also a time at the Leaky Cauldron when Harry had joined Ron and Hermione for a drink, and they overheard a conversation about Draco Malfoy over on the other side of the pub. The witches sitting at the table had been talking loudly about how all that Malfoy needed was to meet the right person, the perfect person who understood him, who would help him to change for the better.

"Well, good luck with that!" Harry had been unable to resist snapping sarcastically as Ron tried and failed to stifle his laughter and Hermione rolled her eyes at the two of them. Harry had had a bad day at work, and by then, he had already been getting sick of what seemed like every young witch and wizard going out of their way to leap to _Dra-co's_ defence.

Even Lucius Malfoy had managed to obtain some level of recognition after the publication of Harry's official story. Every now and again, Harry would be happily strolling around Hogsmeade on a Saturday afternoon only to be stopped by various middle-aged witches so that they could ask him if he knew whether or not Lucius was still married. Whenever this happened, Harry would always turn around and head in the opposite direction as fast as his legs could carry him.

"My father isn't very happy with you, either!" Malfoy suddenly remarked, as though he could read Harry's thoughts. "He feels as though his evil genius has been somewhat underplayed…"

It took all of Harry's strength to resist the urge to inform Malfoy that in his opinion, running over to whoever happened to have the most power and influence at any given moment and then spending eleven years trying to deny that this had happened could in no way constitute as 'evil genius'. Instead, he sighed heavily and asked, "Malfoy, has your father _ever _been happy with me?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes, but he didn't make any further comment.

"So," Harry continued, "you feel as though you were misrepresented in my biography?"

Malfoy folded his arms and glared at Harry. "A few things, Potter…" he said slowly as he raised his right hand so that he could count on his fingers.

Harry sighed and sat back in his seat, wondering what (probably false) accusations were about to be thrown at him.

"First of all, I was _nothing _like your Muggle cousin. How dare you even mention our names in the same sentence!"

"You'd be surprised…" Harry muttered under his breath.

Malfoy chose to ignore him. "Secondly, I have _never _blushed. Malfoys don't blush! You _obviously_ added a few false details of your own there to make yourself look bett-"

"You do know that I didn't actually write the books, don't you?" Harry asked him.

"I don't care," Malfoy retorted, "_you_ signed the publication contracts, Potter! _You_ gave the interviews! Which means that you knew exactly what information was going in there!"

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but he was quickly interrupted.

"And talking of adding false information," Malfoy snarled, "not once have I cried in front of you! I might have looked a tad distressed at certain times, but I definitely wasn't crying!"

Harry felt a twinge of guilt. He knew that Malfoy could only be referring to the incident in the bathroom in sixth year, but he really didn't want to get into a lengthy discussion about that incident, even though he was certain that Malfoy definitely had been crying in that moment. In the end, he decided on a more neutral response: "Let me guess, Malfoys don't cry, either?"

"Exactly," Malfoy nodded, looking mildly impressed as though he genuinely believed that Harry had agreed with him about something rather than responding to his statement with a slightly sarcastic comment. "So it almost goes without saying that I have never sat there crying and sulking over the fact that you refused to be my friend in first year-"

"Where about in the books does it mention _that_?" Harry asked, almost spilling his drink in surprise.

Malfoy took one look at the confused expression on Harry's face and his eyes widened in horror. "Never mind, must have been a different book…" he replied hurriedly, his eyes focused firmly on the table as he instantly disproved his previous statement that Malfoys didn't blush. "Anyway," he continued after a few seconds' pause, "I did _not _talk about you obsessively during the summer holidays between first and second ye-"

"Your father said that, not me!" Harry argued, feeling annoyed that he was now being accused of saying something that he had merely overheard.

"No doubt you were thinking it, though," Malfoy sneered. "In case you haven't realised yet, Potter, most witches and wizards _are_ able to have conversations that don't revolve around you."

Harry glared at him, trying to bite back hundreds of potential remarks that he could make about that comment.

"And the fact that the only reason why you overheard that comment in the first place was because you were _spying _on me at the time just says it all."

"I wasn't spying on you," Harry replied half-heartedly, already sure that Malfoy would either ignore or disagree with him.

"We'll get to the whole spying-on-me issue in a minute," Malfoy told him, causing Harry to feel even more anxious as he imagined how that particular discussion was going to go. "But I want to clear one more thing up first…"

"Which is?" Harry asked, expecting a more serious accusation, maybe something about the Battle of Hogwarts.

"I was a _good_ Quidditch player, Potter," Malfoy informed him with a sigh of exasperation. "Just because Madam Hooch blatantly favoured the Gryffindor team and you managed to win by a stroke of luck in almost every match does _not _mean that you had any right to portray me as the inferior player-"

"I won the Gryffindor versus Slytherin matches fair and square!" Harry shouted out, forgetting for a moment that he was supposed to be a mature adult and also that he was in a public place where he could be easily overheard.

"Whatever," Malfoy sneered sarcastically.

Harry gripped the side of table, feeling his once familiar twinge of competiveness as he tried to fight off a sudden urge to challenge Malfoy to a spontaneous game of Quidditch to prove that he could still beat him to the Snitch.

"I played some excellent games of Quidditch before sixth year," Malfoy continued calmly, as though he were completely unaware of Harry's anger. "One time, I caught the Snitch in a matter of seconds…and okay, _maybe_ it was the time that we were playing against Hufflepuff, but it still _counts_. But of course, the books about your life choose to completely ignore things like that…"

Harry wondered if it would be worth reminding him that the people who read his biography were perhaps more interested in the defeat of Voldemort than Draco Malfoy's Quidditch skills.

"And I missed the Snitch during that match in second year because I was focusing on the _Bludger_, not because I was looking at _you_," Malfoy added inexplicably, his eyes still focused on anything but Harry.

Harry frowned as he struggled to remember the match that Malfoy was referring to. After everything that he had been through at Hogwarts, he found it difficult sometimes to remember every single detail about past events such as Quidditch matches, and he occasionally forgot about certain moments until other people chose to remind him about them.

"Your adoring public might have been led to believe that I spent precious moments during school Quidditch matches staring at _you_ for no apparent reason! Honestly, Potter, your vanity knows no bounds…"

"Have you finished yet?" Harry asked him through gritted teeth, as he secretly wondered what the _Daily Prophet_ headlines might say in the morning if a fight were to break out between two adult wizards (one a former Auror) in the corner of the Three Broomsticks.

"And I have never, _ever _been jealous of you," Malfoy concluded. "_Now_ I've finished." He sat back in his seat again, looking slightly calmer.

Harry wondered if he had been waiting impatiently for weeks to get all of the previous accusations off his chest. Or years.

"Well, I'm _really _glad that you've managed to clear a few things up there," Harry told him, hoping that he at least _sounded _slightly sympathetic, even if he didn't feel it. "But how does any of that prove the theory that we're secretly in love with each other? If anything, it simply supports the more logical theory that we didn't like each other at all. "

"I was getting to that!" Malfoy retorted as his glare was quickly replaced by a smirk.

"Well, get on with it!" Harry snapped. After several years of chasing dark wizards and then dealing with teenagers in class on a daily basis, he had always believed that he had become more calm and patient as he got older. But now, Malfoy was definitely challenging that particular belief. "How has everybody decided, after reading my biography, that I'm secretly in love with you, even though I've apparently remained blissfully unaware of my own feelings for eleven years?"

There was another silence, but this time, it didn't last for long.

Malfoy smirked at him at triumphantly. Harry was certain that, if they really had been playing a game of Quidditch against one other, then this would be the exact same smirk that Malfoy would flash at him just before he snatched the Snitch away at the last second, ensuring a Slytherin victory. "You followed me around rather obsessively in sixth year, didn't you, Potter?"

"N-no, I didn't!" Harry protested. He thought about it for a few seconds. Well, okay, maybe he _had_, but not for the reasons that Malfoy seemed to be implying. "I thought that you were up to something," he added quietly.

"You also believed that the likes of Professor Snape and Sirius Black were up to something at one point. But I don't recall reading _anything_ about how you seriously considered missing important classes so that you could follow _them _around everywhere, or how you sat in bed every night watching _their _names on that map of yours, or how you had dreams about _them _every single-"

"They weren't dreams, they were nightmares," Harry corrected him, deciding that for some reason, it was important to make this distinction. Not that it would ease his embarrassment in any way.

He wondered if it would be possible to prevent any further publications of his biography. Or maybe he could ask for any books focusing on his sixth year at Hogwarts to be removed from the bookshops of the wizarding world. Or he could just ask for the removal of any chapters that made direct references to Draco Malfoy. Although that would probably lead to the removal of rather a lot of chapters…

"If you say so," Malfoy shrugged. "You found excuses to talk about me all the time," he continued. "Even your two sidekicks were getting bored of you going on about me all the time by sixth year."

"Don't call Ron and Hermione sidekicks, Malfoy," Harry responded automatically. Then he thought about certain words that he and Ron had used to describe Crabbe and Goyle back at Hogwarts and he decided that maybe he was being slightly hypocritical. "I also talked about _Quidditch_ all the time," he said in an attempt to shift the focus of the conversation. "Does everybody think that I was secretly in love with Oliver Wood, too? Or maybe Viktor Krum?"

"Yes, you were rather keen on Quidditch, weren't you, Potter?" Malfoy asked him with a grin. Harry didn't like that grin at all. A grin like that from Draco Malfoy implied that he had just walked himself into some sort of trap. "Until _I_ stopped playing in sixth year," he added. "Then you seemed to lose all interest in it…_coincidently_."

"Don't be ridiculous!" Harry snapped at him.

Surely that wasn't true. He had always believed that his loss of interest in Quidditch had been due to the fact that he had had more important issues to focus on in sixth year, or that he had simply outgrown the Hogwarts matches. He _had _obsessed a lot more over the Gryffindor versus Slytherin matches than other matches against Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff, and he remembered feeling somewhat disappointed when a replacement Seeker had taken Malfoy's place in the first sixth year match, but he had never believed that his desire to play Quidditch was so closely linked to Draco Malfoy.

"Anything else?" Harry asked him, eager to hear something that he could argue more convincingly against.

"You seemed to get rather annoyed when you spotted me talking to female Hogwarts students. Like the time when you were spying on me on the Hogwarts Express and you saw Pansy stroking my hair," he explained, "or the other time that you were spying on me, when Crabbe and Goyle had taken Polyjuice Potion and you thought that they were girls…"

"I thought that you were up to something," Harry repeated, wishing that he could put into words just how ridiculous he thought that some of everybody's 'evidence' was. "And stop saying that I spied on you!"

"Potter," Malfoy sighed, "if spending a month preparing a potion so that you could sneak into my common room to interrogate me and hiding in a cabinet so that you could watch me in Borgin and Burkes doesn't count as spying on someone, then I don't know what does."

"I wasn't hiding in there so that I could spy on _you_!" Harry shouted in exasperation. "I did have other, darker wizards to focus on at Hogwarts apart from you, you know!"

As Malfoy rolled his eyes, Harry sighed. He had felt so relaxed at the start of the evening. _Why _had he allowed himself to get drawn into a petty argument about his Hogwarts years with his former rival? He had really believed that he had matured and moved past all of that. Apparently, he was wrong.

"You saved my life." Malfoy said it in barely more than a whisper, now looking as uncomfortable as Harry felt.

Harry felt momentarily taken aback that Malfoy had actually chosen to mention that moment in the Room of Requirement. However, he wasn't really sure that this event could be used as evidence to prove the theory, as Harry had always wanted to save _everybody's_ life. One of his biggest regrets was the fact that this hadn't always been possible. On the other hand, he felt reluctant to say this out loud to Malfoy, as judging by the expression on his face, a part of him (perhaps the older and wiser part) had placed a lot of importance on the fact that Harry had saved him. "Well, you saved mine," he chose to tell him.

Now it was Malfoy's turn to look taken aback. "No, I didn't…not really," he muttered. He looked up from the floor and directly at Harry. "But, I suppose I knew by then that even though I still disliked you, I didn't really want anything terrible to happen to you. Merlin," he gasped as he covered his mouth with his hand, as though he said something that he shouldn't say again, "I must be tipsier than I thought!"

Harry almost smiled, but he decided that it might be safer to just roll his eyes. He definitely felt a bit calmer, though, like a small weight that he hadn't even known was there had just been lifted off his shoulders. It was as though they had both acknowledged something that they should have acknowledged years ago.

"I need something to eat," Malfoy decided as he looked around the pub. He clicked his fingers bossily in the direction of Madam Rosmerta's husband, reminding Harry of Lucius Malfoy, the 'evil genius' for a moment.

"I don't think so," Madam Rosmerta's husband told him with a glare and a shake of the head, before he pointed to the bar.

Malfoy sighed and got to his feet.

As he walked away to place his food order at the bar, Harry thought about everybody's unusual theory. He really thought about it.

He also found himself thinking about Molly Weasley's romance novels, which were on display in the kitchen at The Burrow. They all claimed that wizards fell in love with somebody who could make them smile and helped them to be a better person. Somebody who they thought was beautiful, who they wanted to spend every minute of the day with, somebody who made their heart beat faster. If the novels were right about love, then Harry wasn't sure where Malfoy would fit into his love story.

He had always thought that there was something distinctive about Malfoy's looks, but he couldn't remember ever considering him to be stunningly attractive. He did have quite nice hair, though, even when it was slightly windswept.

He had talked about him a lot with Ron and Hermione, but the point of those conversations had mainly been to insult him.

Harry had often thought about him, but his thoughts had mainly backed up his spoken words about how much of a prat he thought that he was.

His presence had always made Harry's heart beat faster, but never in a good, romantic way.

He had never liked him, but he had been obsessed with him.

In many ways, he had still disliked him after the war, but again he had gone out of his way to save him, this time from a prison sentence in Azkaban, fighting for his freedom almost to the point of obsession, even though many people had advised him against getting involved and Malfoy had never shown any sign of gratitude.

Harry's face felt warmer as he thought about all of the attractive wizards that he had come across over the years. Before, he had never given much thought to the fact that he found certain wizards attractive, but now that the wizarding world was apparently claiming that he was secretly in love with Malfoy, his thoughts about other wizards suddenly seemed much more significant.

The few wizards that held his attention had been his work colleagues in the Auror Department at the Ministry of Magic. When he thought about it, almost all of them had fair hair and enjoyed lengthy discussions about Quidditch, but unlike Malfoy, they had always smiled and said, "Good morning, Harry!" when he arrived at work, they had always laughed at his jokes or nodded along sympathetically when he confided in them about his relationship troubles with Ginny and they had always congratulated him every time that he was promoted.

Surely, if he going to be secretly in love with another wizard, then it would be with a wizard just like one of his former colleagues, rather than the one who enjoyed arguing with him and insulting him, spat out the name 'Potter' as though it were a dirty word and still took great delight in his anger and embarrassment?

He sighed, wondering (not for the first time) whether his life had actually gotten more, rather than less, confusing after Hogwarts.

Malfoy returned to the table.

"What about you?" Harry asked him the second he sat back down.

"_What_ about me, Potter?"

"Well, you said that everybody thinks that we're secretly in love with _each other_, which implies that there's some evidence in my biography to suggest that there were feelings on your part, too."

Malfoys definitely did blush, Harry concluded as the Malfoy opposite him prepared to speak.

"Well, I suppose I did talk about you rather a lot," he mumbled, looking mortified that he had actually said this out loud.

"Even during the summer holidays?" Harry asked him. He was sure that he caught a flicker of amusement in Malfoy's facial expression, but this was quickly replaced by another glare.

"And I suppose I did go out of my way to torment you at school, and according to your biography, I always seemed to be strangely satisfied whenever I got your attention, usually by making you lose your temper or ensuring that you lost points from your House-"

"How romantic," Harry muttered sarcastically.

"And I always seemed to stare at you from across the classrooms or the tables of the Great Hall, if you biography is to be believed…although that's probably debateable…"

_Do _you _believe that we're secretly in love with each other? _Harry suddenly felt compelled to ask him. It seemed like an important, if not essential question. He wondered why he hadn't thought to ask this question the second Malfoy approached his table, as he was now sure that his response would probably be much more important than any theory.

He sighed to himself and shook his head. No wonder he had always been so useless at Auror interrogations.

Harry was just about to say something along those lines out loud when…

"Uncle, _I_ can take it over to him!" he heard an enthusiastic female voice call out.

After a few seconds, he heard the sound of footsteps as somebody approached the table.

"Professor?" a curious voice asked as a young girl stopped right next to him, holding a plate of what looked like treacle tart in her hand.

Trying his best not to get distracted by the delicious smell of what had once been one of his favourite desserts, Harry looked up at the girl standing next to the table and instantly recognised the light brown hair and blue eyes. "Hi, Cecelia," he greeted her, trying his best to smile politely.

She was a student in his seventh year Defence Against the Dark Arts class. He remembered his first day of teaching over a year ago, when she had skipped into the classroom holding a copy of Luna and Rolf Scamander's latest book. From that moment, Harry should have known what to expect, as she had spent the next twelve months repeatedly asking: "But, why not, Professor?" and "How do you know that it's impossible, Professor?" and "Don't you think that the information in the textbook is rather limited, Professor?"

Harry also knew from a few brief conversations outside the classroom that Madam Rosmerta was Cecelia's aunt, and she occasionally stayed with her at the Three Broomsticks on certain weekends.

"I can't _believe _you're here, Professor!" Cecelia exclaimed, looking shocked at the idea that Harry actually left his office at Hogwarts to go out and socialize with people who were neither students nor other professors. If this bizarre conversation with Draco Malfoy could even be classed as socialising. "I thought I heard a familiar voice over on this side of the pub, but then I decided that it couldn't possibly be you, sitting at a table with-" She stopped herself mid-sentence as an expression of mild embarrassment crossed her face.

As she looked slowly from Harry to Malfoy, Harry worked out in a matter of seconds the reason why she looked so surprised. Even though she had recognised her professor's voice, she had decided that it wasn't him simply because he was sitting with Draco Malfoy.

For the first time, Harry thought about how strange it was that even after eleven years, everybody still seemed to be aware of the animosity that had existed between the two of them at Hogwarts.

After staring at Harry in disbelief for a few more seconds, Cecelia smiled at Malfoy and slowly put the plate down in front of him. He nodded politely at her, but instead of walking away, she remained rooted to the spot, looking fascinated as she stared at him.

Harry coughed discreetly, hoping that she would take the hint and avert her gaze from Malfoy, who was starting to throw a few questioning looks in Harry's direction.

At the sound of Harry's cough, Cecelia seemed to snap out of her trance. She looked back over at Harry. "Professor, I finished reading the latest edition of your biography the other day," she informed him, looking extremely pleased with herself as Malfoy sneered in disapproval.

Harry couldn't help but feel slightly surprised that she had bothered to read his biography. His students rarely read books about him, as most of them preferred to remain in denial about the fact that he had lived what now felt like a whole other life before he accepted the teaching post at Hogwarts.

As far as most of his students were concerned, he was just their professor who taught their Defence Against the Dark Arts classes at the same time every week and helped them to pass their exams every year. If they ever asked anything about Harry's past in the middle of a lesson, the questions tended to be from an academic point of view, focusing on duels and defensive spells.

For some reason, Cecelia turned back to Malfoy. "You know," she told him with a grin, "out of all the wizards mentioned in the books, you were my favourite."

"_Him_?" Harry couldn't stop himself from shouting in shock. As he pointed in disbelief at Malfoy, whose sneer had now turned into a smug grin, Harry worried that like Malfoy, perhaps he was tipsier than he thought as well.

"_Him_?" an even louder voice echoed from the other side of the pub.

Harry turned around in his seat and saw that the voice belonged to Madam Rosmerta, who was standing behind the bar and looking at her niece with an expression of pure horror.

As soon as she noticed that Harry and several other customers were staring at her, she turned away from them and went back to preparing various drinks, muttering a couple of words under her breath that sounded a lot like 'young' and 'naive'.

"Could I have your autograph?" Cecelia asked Malfoy breathlessly, ignoring her aunt's whispered comments.

"Of course," Malfoy replied, directing yet another smug grin at Harry as Cecelia produced a piece of parchment and a quill from her pocket, almost as though she had been planning to ask for Malfoy's autograph all along. Which, judging by her eagerness to get over to the table, was probably the case.

Harry always felt uncomfortable and embarrassed when people stopped him in the street to ask for an autograph, but Malfoy appeared to be in his element. He made a huge show of signing the piece of parchment for Cecelia, taking particular care when it came to writing his name in unnaturally large letters right in the centre. The celebrity image was only somewhat ruined by the fact that Malfoy's hand shook slightly when he tried to write in a straight line, no doubt still affected by his glasses of firewhiskey.

"My friends will be _so _jealous!" Cecelia grinned as Malfoy handed the parchment back to her.

Harry covered his face with his hands, now wishing that this were a terrible nightmare, as it would mean that one of his students wasn't really asking Draco Malfoy for an autograph and telling him that her friends would be jealous that she had been 'lucky' enough to meet him.

"Maybe I should write a few stories of my own," he drawled as he started to sign personalised autographs for Cecelia to give to her friends.

"That's a good idea!" Malfoy's number one fan affirmed. "It would be _fascinating _to read an account of the war from a different perspective!"

Harry kept his face firmly in his hands, resorting to one of Hermione's calming techniques of mentally reciting extracts from various textbooks as a way of distracting himself from a disturbing vision of Draco Malfoy sitting in Flourish and Blotts, surrounded by young witches like Cecelia as he smugly signed copies of his own books.

If that vision ever became a reality, then there was no possible way that the situation could end well for Harry. If Malfoy thought that he had been badly portrayed in Harry's stories, then it was nothing compared to how Harry would come across in a story from Malfoy's persective.

"It must have been _really_ difficult for you, after the Battle of Hogwarts…" Cecelia whispered.

"My life _was _very difficult after the Battle of Hogwarts," Malfoy affirmed, looking both thrilled and relieved that he was now talking to somebody who could see things from his point of view.

Harry sighed. He had overheard several witches and wizards expressing their concern for Draco Malfoy's welfare in the years that followed the Battle of Hogwarts, but people rarely asked how he, Ron and Hermione had coped.

Malfoy shared a few stories with Cecelia about his life after the war, apparently more comfortable talking to her about his troubled past than he was talking to Harry. He also complained several times about a lot of the false stories that the _Daily Prophet _had published after the battle, whilst Cecelia nodded along sympathetically as he spoke.

"It _can_ be difficult to know for sure what happened in those years after the battle," Cecelia told him with a sigh. "It makes certain History of Magic classes quite difficult. After all, there are so many stories out there, as well as the official biographies..."

Malfoy smirked. "You know, it's funny that you should mention official biographies, because your professor and I have just been discussing a _very _interesting theory that a lot of people have come up with about the two of us, based on his official story…"

"Really?" Cecelia asked, her eyes lighting up in fascination. "What's the theory?"

Harry's heart started beating faster again. Malfoy wouldn't actually share this theory with one of his students, would he? _"Don't you dare_," he mouthed, just in case Malfoy actually attempted-

"That our hatred for each other was secretly masking other..._feelings_."

Too late.

"What do you think?" Malfoy asked her, as Harry shook his head in disbelief at the two of them, trying his best not to look too humiliated.

"Hmm…_interesting_," Cecelia responded with a serious nod, looking like she was really thinking about this idea. "Well," she concluded after a few moments of careful thought, "I suppose he did follow you around rather obsessively in sixth year..."

"Thank you!" Malfoy exclaimed triumphantly as he pointed to Cecelia but kept his eyes firmly focused on Harry.

Harry felt shocked at Cecelia's comment. He had always thought that a fellow Gryffindor would have taken his side in a Gryffindor versus Slytherin situation like this, or would at least have had the sense not to say anything at all, but apparently not. He hadn't even considered the possibility that she would actually agree with Malfoy's earlier supporting argument for the theory.

Maybe he was just being paranoid, but he couldn't help thinking again about all of the young witches and wizards in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade, asking him between giggles how _Dra-co_ was doing, and the journalists, who often asked him with curious expressions and raised eyebrows if he had spoken to Draco Malfoy recently.

Had they all secretly believed the 'in love with each other theory' all along? Had their grins and smirks and strange expressions at the mention of Malfoy's name in front of Harry all been because they had heard this ridiculous theory?

Harry felt another rush of anger. He didn't like that idea at all. He still hated it when people kept secrets from him or refused to share important information.

Cecelia looked at Harry and threw him a sympathetic glance. "You don't have to take my word for it," she added hastily. "If you want, I can ask some of my friends what they think-"

"No, that won't be necessary, Cecelia!" Harry interrupted her, his voice shaking.

"Oh, I _definitely_ think that you should discuss this with your fellow students, Cecelia!" Malfoy smirked, no doubt loving every second of Harry's discomfort and embarrassment. "Do you know who else I think would be _fascinated _to hear this theory? Your Herbology Professor-"

"No, Cecelia!" Harry jumped into the conversation again. "You are not to discuss this with Professor Longbottom! In fact, I'm certain that one of the school rules clearly states that students are not allowed to discuss the private lives of their professors with other professors-"

"And I'm certain that you've just made that rule up, _Umbridge_," Malfoy interrupted him again.

"Shut up!" Harry snapped at him, now resorting to arguing with Malfoy as though he were fifteen years old again.

"You shut up!" Malfoy snapped back.

"_Interesting_," Cecelia commented.

Harry closed his eyes for a second, trying to ignore a terrifying vision of Professor McGonagall calling him to her office on Monday to warn him about arguing with former rivals and discussing his personal life in front of his students.

Cecelia's aunt had apparently had enough. "Cecelia!" she called out to her, before she told her to leave the table.

Cecelia sighed. "Well, see you on Monday morning, Professor...and good luck," she told Harry, as she started to walk away. "It was nice to meet you," she told Malfoy.

"So," Malfoy asked Harry the second the sound of Cecelia's footsteps faded away, "what are we going to _do _to prove this theory?"


	3. Chapter 3

"_D-do _to prove the theory?" Harry spluttered.

He didn't like the sound of that at all. 'Do' implied that some sort of action would have to be taken, and he wasn't sure if he was ready for something like that with somebody like Draco Malfoy. He wasn't sure if he would _ever _be ready.

"Yes, Potter, _do_," Malfoy responded with a long-suffering sigh. He paused for a moment to pick up a tiny piece of treacle tart with his fork. "Otherwise, how will we know for sure?"

The smell of treacle tart definitely wasn't doing anything to calm Harry's nerves. He thought back to his Hogwarts years, when he had spent many an evening meal furiously stabbing his fork into his slice of the same dessert, usually whilst he glared at Malfoy from across the tables of the Great Hall.

"Do you not think that we should know already?" Harry asked him, more to distract Malfoy and stall for time than to find out his opinion.

Malfoy shook his head slowly. "Apparently, we don't." He picked up another small piece of cake.

"What would we have to do, exactly?" Harry asked, before he could stop himself. He tried to remember how many glasses of Butterbeer he had drunk before Malfoy arrived, just in case he really was too tipsy to think rationally, but he seemed to have temporarily lost the ability to count, along with the ability to consider the possible consequences before he spoke.

"I think one kiss should do it," Malfoy replied. His tone of voice sounded almost casual, but Harry noticed that he was staring at him intently with what looked like a hint of uncertainty, as though waiting for a reaction.

Trying his best to resist the urge to gasp, or run away, or shake his head, Harry stared back at Malfoy, wondering yet again how he had gotten himself into a situation like this in the first place.

He felt a trickle of sweat run slowly down the back of his neck. When he was a teenager, it had taken him years to build up the courage to kiss somebody for the first time. He had assumed that the initial feeling of awkwardness associated with flirting and snogging had gradually faded with age and experience, but now, he suddenly felt like an inexperienced teenager all over again, completely out of his depth.

The fact that a wizard, rather than a witch, was asking him for a kiss wasn't exactly the cause of Harry's anxiety. He thought again about a few of his male former colleagues and wondered what he would have done if one of them had approached his table at the Three Broomsticks instead of Malfoy and suggested an experimental kiss after a couple of drinks. He might have let them persuade him to go along with it, if they had sounded convincing enough, or if he had been bored after a long day at work and he was certain that there were no Hogwarts students anywhere close by.

The problem was that it was _Draco Malfoy_, the wizard who he had once hated with a passion, had barely spoken to in years and in many ways still mistrusted, who wanted to kiss him.

The two of them continued to sit in uncomfortable silence, whilst Harry tried and failed to make sense of his thoughts and Malfoy poked his fork awkwardly at the remains of his treacle tart.

The cake smelled delicious, Harry was able to silently acknowledge, in spite of his growing sense of fear. In different circumstances, he might have asked if he could have a piece of it, or, if he had been with his friends, he would simply have leaned over and helped himself. However, he quickly skipped over that thought, deciding that in light of what Malfoy had just suggested, it probably wouldn't be a good idea to move any closer to him.

"But…_why_?" Harry finally asked him, still feeling thoroughly confused.

As far as Harry could tell, Draco Malfoy hadn't done too badly for himself since the war. His parents were alive and well, he still spent time with his friends from school and more than once, Harry had spotted him in Diagon Alley, strolling around hand in hand with attractive witches from wealthy wizarding families. Therefore, he just couldn't see _how_ a kiss with his former rival in the corner of the Three Broomsticks would be of any advantage to Malfoy, or how it would improve his life in any way.

Malfoy sighed again, but this time the sigh sounded like a defeated one. "Because I'm _bored_, okay?" he mumbled. He slumped forward slightly, as though he were ashamed of this admission. "And before you say anything, Potter," he continued, "I _know_ that I have no right to complain about being bored. I always have _plenty_ to do at work, then after work, most of the other Slytherins are at my front door, asking if I want to go out for drinks. And when I'm not out with them, I'm usually at expensive restaurants with attractive pure-blood witches. I'm sure that most of the _Daily Prophet _journalists would say that I've been _lucky_, given the circumstances after the war," he whispered, apparently unable to prevent another sneer from forming at the corner of his lips at the mention of the _Daily Prophet _journalists. "But…"

He suddenly went quiet, looking reluctant to continue. He definitely looked more sober than he had seemed when he first approached the table.

"But…what?" Harry prompted him.

Malfoy sighed again. "Sometimes, I'll be at a restaurant with a beautiful woman, and everything will be going really well. Then, I'll look across the table at her for a few seconds and I'll feel like there's something _missing_, the same thing that seems to have been missing since I left Hogwarts, even though I don't know what that 'something' is."

Harry stared at him in shock, unused to hearing his former rival talk so openly about his problems.

The worrying thing was that in many ways, he could sympathise. There were times when he too had been eating in (no doubt less expensive) restaurants with various women, or even with some of his friends, and he would look across the table at whoever he happened to be with and he would always feel like something wasn't quite right.

This feeling wasn't exclusive to dates in restaurants, either. If he were honest with himself, Harry would have to admit that he had felt this overwhelming 'something-isn't-quite-right-feeling' for several years.

"And," Malfoy muttered, interrupting Harry's thoughts again, "if everybody is right about their theory and _this _is what's missing,"-he pointed from himself to Harry-"then I'd like to know now, before-"

"Before what?" Harry asked him suspiciously, noticing that Malfoy had put his hand over his mouth again, as though to prevent himself from revealing something that he shouldn't.

Malfoy turned his head away, suddenly very interested in staring at the door and the four walls of the pub.

Harry continued to stare at him suspiciously. He thought again about Malfoy's decision to approach him to discuss everybody's theory. Why the eagerness to talk about it now, after so many years?

He also thought about the evenings at restaurants with pure-blood witches that Malfoy had just mentioned.

Then, he couldn't help thinking about the predicted future for Draco Malfoy which had been mentioned in a few editions of his biography, and suddenly, everything made sense…

"Your father's expecting you to marry some pure-blood witch, isn't he?" Harry asked Malfoy angrily. He wasn't even sure _why _he felt so angry about this. After all, it was hardly surprising, given the attitudes and beliefs of many pure-blood families, and he and Malfoy had never even been close to being friends, so it wasn't really any of his business.

Malfoy stared at him. He didn't nod or say 'yes', but he didn't say anything to deny it, either.

"Forget it, Malfoy," Harry sighed. "I'm not going to help you with a long overdue act of rebellion against your father-"

"Not everything is about my father, Potter!" Malfoy snapped at him, now looking a lot more like the young, angry Draco Malfoy that Harry had known and hated at Hogwarts.

Harry gripped his seat tightly again, trying to calm himself down, just in case he threw some sort of insult about Malfoy's father at him in response and it led to a duel.

The more logical voice in his head that sounded like Hermione was now telling him that perhaps it would be a good idea to simply ask Malfoy to leave, before the situation got any worse. But Harry knew that he couldn't do that. If Malfoy left, then chances were, he wouldn't see him again for several more years, and for some reason, Harry wasn't overly keen on that idea, not now that they had started talking to each other again.

Malfoy took a few deep breaths as though to calm himself. "Well," he said slowly, still looking rather flustered, "I wouldn't exactly say 'marry'."

Harry waited for him to continue as he took a few more calming breaths.

"She's nice enough," Malfoy went on to explain, and Harry assumed that he was talking about the pure-blood witch who he suspected Lucius Malfoy wanted his son to marry. "I don't really know her very well, yet, but we seem to get along, and I suppose we could even be friends, one day. And her family were on _your _side, during the war, which my father sees as an added bonus. After all, Potter, your 'friends' at the _Daily Prophet _still take great delight in claiming that my father hasn't changed at all…"

Has _he changed at all? _Harry wanted to ask, but he decided that it would be better to keep quiet.

"I'm sure that my parents will expect an announcement of an engagement in the next couple of years," Malfoy shrugged. "_If _I continue to spend time with her, of course, and that would be…okay. I could make it work, make the family happy. But really, I would still feel like something was missing. So, if I have the chance _now _to find out if there really _is_ something important missing from my life, then I'd rather know, before it's too late."

It took Harry a few seconds to process what Malfoy had just said. He was almost tempted to say something about how ridiculous it was that Malfoy would allow himself to be pressured into living a life that somebody else expected him to live, but he stopped himself before he said anything, fully aware that, based on a few of the decisions that he had made over the past few years to keep others happy, he wasn't really the right person to pass judgment.

Malfoy's reasons for wanting to prove everybody's theory made sense, in a way, and Harry understood his curiosity, in a way. But still, he couldn't...

"You still seem to be rather reluctant, Potter," Malfoy commented, before he reached into the pocket of his robes and retrieved what looked like a wand.

Automatically, Harry reached for his own wand, the adrenaline rushing through his body as though he were expecting to block some sort of hex or jinx.

"Relax, Potter," Malfoy sighed as he let go of the wand that he had just taken out of his pocket and let it fall to the table.

Harry looked down at the table and instantly recognised the wand that he had snatched from Malfoy back at the Manor during the war. Harry would recognise it anywhere. He had carried it so close to his chest for months, even after the Battle of Hogwarts.

The wand jumped up slightly from the table and emitted a few red sparks, as though it were offering Harry some sort of greeting.

Harry itched to touch it. Once, it had felt almost as familiar as his own wand in his hand. He moved forward slightly, as though to make a grab for it.

Malfoy snatched it out of Harry's grasp at the last second, and Harry had to bite his lip to avoid shouting several insults at him.

"How about we make a deal, Potter?" Malfoy asked him with a smirk of satisfaction, looking pleased with himself now that he seemed to have some sort of upper hand in the discussion.

Harry shook his head. He was certain that no good could come of a deal with Draco Malfoy.

As usual, Malfoy ignored him. "If you go along with this, Potter, I'll let you have this wand back."

Harry stared longingly at the wand in Malfoy's hand.

In the months that followed the Battle of Hogwarts, in spite of his exhaustion, Harry had been unable to sleep at night. He had often lain awake in his bed at The Burrow or in his dormitory at Hogwarts for hours on end, replaying traumatic memories of the previous year over and over in his mind.

Then, when he finally managed to get to sleep, he had been tormented by nightmares about the battle and its tragic victims.

One night, he had woken up abruptly after a particularly nasty nightmare, and he had spotted a few tiny sparks coming from the left hand side of his bed. He had looked to his left and spotted the wand on his bedside cabinet, where he had kept it, half-hidden under one of his Weasley jumpers, since the Battle of Hogwarts.

For some reason, he had reached out for it and placed it over his chest, in exactly the same spot where he had kept it during the battle.

The second he placed it over his chest, Harry had felt slightly calmer, and he had actually managed to sleep for a few hours.

Even though he had never really tried to understand the reason why he felt so comforted and protected whenever his arms were wrapped tightly around that wand, Harry had slept with it across his chest for several weeks, and he had even hidden it in the pocket of his robes during the day, usually when he was helping with the rebuilding of Hogwarts, as its presence had always seemed to ease his anxiety slightly.

It had been with great reluctance that he had finally sent it back to Malfoy, and even now, he wasn't sure if he would have done so without Hermione's constant reminders that it was the right thing to do.

Malfoy pushed the wand towards Harry.

Harry couldn't help but feel surprised that Malfoy was so willing to hand it back to him. If it had been in exchange for gold or some other lucrative item in the wizarding world, then he might have understood his motivations better, but not for something as simple as a kiss. Judging by the reactions of many witches and wizards at the mention of _Dra-co's _name, Harry was certain that Malfoy would easily find a kiss elsewhere, without having to give up his old wand.

"Well, Potter?" Malfoy asked him with a bite of impatience in his voice.

Harry continued to stare at the wand. It sounded so simple. He would only have to go along with the snogging for a bit, then he could have the wand back, and he could secretly sleep with it across his chest again, tonight, if he wanted, and he would probably have the most peaceful sleep that he had had since the start of term.

It was so tempting. But still, he couldn't bring himself to say yes…

"I can't," Harry sighed, feeling almost disappointed that he wasn't brave enough to accept a challenge that a Slytherin had put to him.

"Why not?" Malfoy asked him, now sounding slightly disappointed as well.

"B-because…what if everybody's right?"

The thought that there could be any truth to the theory had seemed ridiculous at the start of the conversation, but now that he had questioned the possibility of everybody being right out loud, Harry realised that he had just voiced a deep-rooted, almost subconscious fear that he hadn't even realised was there, but it was now pressing down on him like a whole new weight on his shoulders.

If he kissed Draco Malfoy, and he discovered that he liked it, and wanted to do it again, then _everything _would change.

The past would change, in a way, because he would have to completely re-evaluate his thoughts and beliefs about his and Malfoy's relationship at Hogwarts, and the explanations for their behaviour and bitter rivalry.

The present would definitely change, as he would probably have some explaining to do when he met up with his friends, and he might even have to speak to a few of the former Slytherins again.

More importantly, the future would change. Even though Harry had often reacted angrily to any attempts to predict his future for him, and even though his past dreams of a romantic relationship with Ginny had never really become a reality, deep down, a small part of him still held on to the unlikely prediction that one day, he might live some sort of happily ever after which involved the Weasleys and The Burrow.

After all, he still liked the idea of having Ron as a brother-in-law, Molly as a mother-in-law, the other Weasley brothers as his brothers-in-law, children who would be related to Ron and Hermione's children...

He knew, really, that given his current situation with Ginny, this would most likely never be anything more than a dream, but if the theory was true, then he would have to let go of that particular fairy tale ending once and for all, and he would then have to face the terrifying prospect of an unknown future.

However, he decided not to mention any of this to Malfoy, as he already looked offended enough by Harry's comment that he was scared that the theory was true.

"The _Daily Prophet _journalists wouldn't like it," Harry chose to say instead, just in case Malfoy hadn't given any serious thought to the practicalities of the situation.

After the Battle of Hogwarts, a lot of journalists had taken a twisted pleasure in metaphorically tearing the Malfoy family to pieces in their articles, and even though a few of them seemed to enjoy raising their eyebrows and smirking at the mention of the names Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy in the same sentence, Harry highly doubted that all of the journalists would jump for joy at the news that a member of the Malfoy family had managed to get The Chosen One to agree to kiss him. After all, it would definitely get in the way of their most recent articles predicting Harry's possible reconciliation with Ginny.

"Potter," Malfoy sighed, "there's no insult that a _Daily Prophet _journalist could write about me that would be any worse than what they've written already, and it's not like I'm asking you to marry me!" he snapped. " It's one kiss, for Merlin's sake!"

"Your friends wouldn't be very happy about it," Harry added, trying for a different angle. "I bet most of them still hate me."

"Not as much as you think," Malfoy replied enigmatically.

"Ron would be furious," Harry persisted.

For some reason, Malfoy smirked. "To be honest, Potter, the thought of the look of horror on Weasley's face just makes me want to do this even more."

Harry glared at him. "And," he continued, "if you think that your father isn't very happy with me _now_, wait until he hears about _this_!"

For a second, Malfoy looked mildly amused, but his expression darkened again when Harry shook his head. "So," he asked, in a tone of voice that suggested that he knew Harry's answer already, "that's definitely a no, then?"

Harry shrugged, but he found himself unable to say anything.

"Very well, Potter," Malfoy sighed. He put the wand away, pushed his seat back and stood up. "Good luck with living the life that's already been predicted and planned out for you in every single book-"

"Oh, all right!" Harry snapped. "Get over here, now!"


	4. Chapter 4

Malfoy stood still and stared at Harry with his eyes wide, either in shock or disbelief, or maybe both.

Harry stared back at him, almost unable to believe that he had just agreed to go along with Malfoy's suggestion.

If somebody had told him before he left Hogwarts for a quiet drink at the Three Broomsticks that this is how his evening would end, agreeing to kiss Draco Malfoy to see if a strange theory about their apparent secret love might be true, he would never, _ever _have believed them.

_Good luck with living the life that's already been predicted and planned out for you._

That had been the line that had done it, in the end.

Of course, a few of Malfoy's other arguments had definitely helped, mainly: 'Everybody thinks it anyway', 'I'm bored' and 'I feel like something important is missing from my life', but that line had definitely cast Harry's deciding vote.

Oh, how he hated the suggestion that he was allowing others to take control of his life. He had had more than enough of that back at Hogwarts.

It wasn't the first time that a suggestion like that had led to an extreme decision, either.

He remembered the years after the war, when he had been granted his wish of becoming an Auror, and he had then been awarded promotion after promotion at work, just like the _Daily Prophet _journalists and the writers of certain stories about his life had predicted.

At first, Harry had enjoyed his new job, and the fact that he felt as though he were actually doing something productive to help with the rebuilding of the wizarding world had definitely provided a welcome distraction from the underlying feelings of grief and sadness after the Battle of Hogwarts.

However, after a couple of years, the novelty had started to wear off, and what the books and newspaper articles had failed to mention was just how tired he felt after long days at work, and how bored he was starting to get as he spent more and more time stuck in his office with huge rolls of parchment spread out untidily all over his desk.

By that point, even though he never admitted it out loud, he had grown tired of chasing after and capturing dark wizards, or, more often than not, sending younger Aurors to do the job in his place when he had too much work to do at the office.

Even though the piles of gold in his Gringotts vault had increased with each promotion, secretly, Harry had started to look forward to teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts classes at Hogwarts on Friday afternoons a lot more than he looked forward to his long days at the Ministry.

In between his long days at work, Harry had also been trying to work on his relationship with Ginny. The two of them had started to drift apart, and Harry constantly found himself confiding in Ron and Hermione about his problems at work more often than he confided in his girlfriend. The fact that the two of them rarely saw each other due to their very different careers hadn't helped much, either.

Yet Harry had felt too guilty to openly acknowledge his boredom at work or his relationship problems, even to himself. After all, back at Hogwarts, he had believed that he really wanted a life with Ginny and a job as an Auror, and he had made no secret of his future plans in the official interviews which he gave after the war, so he knew that he had no right to get angry with the wizarding world for congratulating him when he achieved what they believed to be his ambitions.

He had also hated the thought of disappointing everybody if he suddenly announced that he no longer wanted the life that he had always believed that he wanted.

He had therefore kept quiet and tried his best to avoid reading the _Daily Prophet_, and he had simply nodded and smiled when a witch or wizard wished him luck.

Harry's life had continued in this way, right up to just over a year ago when he had been in the running to be promoted to Head of the Auror Department.

The _Daily Prophet _journalists had been thrilled with that new development, and they had taken great delight in writing endless articles claiming that Harry was the obvious choice for the role, as it was practically his destiny to be Head Auror, just like it was his 'destiny' to marry Ginny Weasley, even though Harry and Ginny had secretly been in the middle of another break up at that point.

And yet Harry had been unable to share their joy, because the idea of being made Head Auror, or the idea of getting back with Ginny and proposing to her, just hadn't filled him with any sort of enthusiasm. The fact that he had been forced to stop teaching at Hogwarts on Friday afternoons due to his increased workload had only served to make him feel even more miserable about the situation.

Harry had also taken to watching Malfoy in Diagon Alley with renewed enthusiasm, more as a distraction from his daily routine than anything else. Whenever Malfoy walked to the end of the street and disappeared from view, a part of Harry had been desperate to try to follow him, just to go somewhere different for a change, rather than having to go back to his office.

On the day when Harry was called to Kingsley Shacklebolt's office, and the Minister of Magic broke the news that he was to be promoted, Harry had caught a glimpse of the morning newspaper on Kingsley's desk.

The headline had been about Harry's new role at the Ministry, the journalists having predicted the result before it had even been made public, along with a few not-so-subtle hints that he would now take the opportunity to propose to Ginny Weasley, and perhaps they would have children, children whose names had already been more or less predicted by several journalists since the end of the Battle of Hogwarts.

As he quickly read through a few of the main points of the article, Harry had finally realised just how much he had allowed his destiny after the war to be controlled, and how he had been living a life to please everybody else, instead of trying to make himself happy.

He had even felt disappointed in himself as he silently acknowledged the fact that it was a life that he hadn't been happy with years, and yet he had remained in denial and taken no action to do anything to change it.

So, instead of jumping for joy or standing up to shake Kingsley's hand to accept his promotion, he had politely thanked him for the offer, and then refused it.

Then, in a move that would later shock not only the _Daily Prophet _journalists but also Harry himself, he had informed Kingsley that not only would he not be taking up the offer of a promotion, but he was also planning to leave the Ministry of Magic altogether.

Up until that moment, he hadn't even been aware that he wanted to stop working at the Ministry, but as soon as he said it out loud, it had sounded like the right thing to do, as though a part of him had been planning to do it for months.

With that, he had stood up and walked right out of the office and out of the building, trying his best to ignore the looks of disbelief on his work colleagues' faces.

For some reason, later that same day, he had found himself at Hogwarts. As he walked through the corridors and past the door leading to the Room of Requirement, it had hit him just how much he missed being there.

He had then barged right into the headmistress's office and announced that he would like to become the official, full-time Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor.

Professor McGonagall had looked extremely shocked, and she had stopped writing on a long roll of parchment so that she could stare at Harry with widened eyes.

Harry had actually felt embarrassed then, as he had suddenly realised that she had never actually offered him a full-time teaching role, and even if she had, he had never given any serious thought to returning to Hogwarts to teach on a permanent basis.

Luckily, after lecturing Harry for at least five minutes on the importance of knocking before entering Professors' offices, Professor McGonagall had informed him, sounding utterly shocked as she did so, that she had in fact been in the process of writing an official letter to the Ministry to inform them that Hogwarts was in need of a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.

Harry might have called it fate, if he hadn't disliked the idea of fate and destinies so much.

Eventually, after ensuring that Harry attended several interviews so as to make the whole process as fair as possible, Professor McGonagall had offered him the job.

After his final interview, Harry had arranged to meet with Ginny, and after a lengthy discussion, the two of them had agreed to put any plans to rekindle their relationship on hold for the time being and instead try their best to be friends.

His life as a Hogwarts professor wasn't perfect by any means, but Harry definitely felt a lot happier than he had been in London, and finally, he was in control of his life and his decisions. Or at least he had been, until a certain blond walked into the Three Broomsticks.

Harry stopped thinking about the past when Malfoy moved closer to the table.

Instead of walking over to Harry, he sat back down slowly in his seat and folded his arms across his chest. "If you're so eager to try this, Potter," he muttered with a raised eyebrow and a hint of a challenge in his voice, "then maybe _you _should get over_ here_."

Harry sighed. Of course Malfoy wasn't going to make this easy for him. After years of being able to tell people what to do, he had almost forgotten that there were still people like Malfoy in the wizarding world who would refuse to obey his commands.

The two of them stared at each other for a few moments, as though silently waiting for the other to back down.

Even though it took all of Harry's efforts to resist the temptation to angrily remind Malfoy that he had been the one to suggest a kiss in the first place, in the end, he decided that if he actually wanted to leave the pub at some point before dawn, he was probably going to have to be the one to make the first move.

Harry stood up slowly, surprised that the room seemed to spin around slightly as he did so.

Trying his best to ignore Malfoy's triumphant smirk, and the fact that he was muttering something about how everybody believed that Harry would be the one to back down first, he walked towards the opposite side of the table, dragging his chair along with him.

He wasn't sure why exactly he felt the need to bring his chair with him, unless he had done it as a way of distracting himself from the thought of what was about to happen, or as a way of delaying the inevitable, but a part of him wished that he hadn't, because the noise it made as it scraped along the wooden floor was almost deafening in the almost empty pub, and Harry was already worried enough about attracting attention. The last thing that he wanted was for a few of the younger customers (several of whom Harry remembered teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts classes to a few years ago) to look up from their glasses of Butterbeer and catch a glimpse of him kissing Draco Malfoy.

"Why don't you make a bit more noise, Potter?" Malfoy snapped sarcastically at him. "I don't think everybody heard you over on the other side of Hogsm-"

"Shut up!" Harry hissed at him as he stopped dragging his chair and positioned it so that it was right next to Malfoy.

To his surprise, Malfoy went quiet, perhaps sensing that Harry would run away if he made a wrong move or said the wrong thing.

Harry sat down hesitantly, all too aware that he was now sitting only inches apart from his former rival. His heart was beating fast again, and the room suddenly seemed to have gotten a lot warmer.

Up close, Malfoy looked a lot more anxious and uncertain than he had seemed from the other side of the table, and another blush had crept to his cheeks. Harry wondered if Malfoy's heart was currently beating as fast as his.

The voices in Harry's head that sounded like Ron and Hermione were asking him yet again if he was really going to go through with this. Harry still wasn't sure.

"Well?" Malfoy asked, the bite of impatience back in his voice.

Harry glared at him and moved even closer. Apparently, he really was going to go through with it, if only to prove a point to Malfoy that he was brave enough to do so.

They stared at each other. The seconds ticked by. Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat, whilst Malfoy folded and unfolded his arms. Malfoy tilted his head to the side, as though trying to get the right angle for the kiss, so Harry tilted his head to the side, too. They stared at each other again…

"Get on with it, Potter!" Malfoy snapped at him, his voice shaking.

Harry sighed, feeling somewhat annoyed that he was going to have to be the one to initiate the kiss. "Just so you know," he felt it necessary to mutter as he moved so close to Malfoy that their lips were practically touching, "no matter what happens here tonight, it doesn't change the fact that I thought that you were a prat back at Hogwarts…"

"The feeling's mutual, Potter," Malfoy replied, before Harry closed the gap between them, so that their lips finally touched.

Even though Harry was struggling to form coherent thoughts, he couldn't help but feel surprised at just how soft Malfoy's lips were. He also noticed that there was definitely a taste of treacle tart on those lips, no doubt left over from Malfoy's recent dessert.

Malfoy gasped and made a move as though to back away, but he seemed to think better of it at the last second, because he moved back towards Harry.

Unwilling to back down from this particular challenge, Harry moved closer again, increasing the pressure ever so slightly, making it more like an actual kiss, rather than just lips brushing lightly together.

The two of them sat there with their lips touching for what seemed like forever, both of them moving around in their seats every few seconds, even though they were apparently afraid to make a move deepen the kiss.

It was by no means perfect. In fact, the whole thing was rather awkward, because Malfoy kept his eyes wide open, as though too wary to fully relax and let go, so Harry felt like he had to do the same, meaning that they both kept looking at each other, and the room was much too hot, and Malfoy's cheeks were still bright pink, as though he were embarrassed by the kissing, and with all of the movement going on, Harry's glasses had been pushed right up against his eyes…

But at the same time, it wasn't awful, and this surprised Harry more than anything.

He took his time, trying his best to really get a sense of what it felt like, whether he liked it and whether it was actually doing anything to prove any theories. He still felt confused, and scared, but he was in no rush to stop the kiss. After all, he _liked _the taste of treacle tart.

There was still a hint of a challenge in the air. Every time Harry moved away slightly, Malfoy moved closer, ensuring that their lips never parted, and vice versa.

It was almost like they were back at Hogwarts and the two of them had been arguing in their Potions class. Only now, they had discovered a whole new way of concluding their arguments rather than resorting to fights or duels.

Eventually, Malfoy gripped Harry's arm, as though holding him in place, like he was afraid that Harry would suddenly disappear. Instead of wincing in pain, Harry felt oddly reassured by the gesture.

Harry grabbed hold of Malfoy's arm in return. He felt something similar to the comforting sensation that had swept through his body when he used to wrap his arms tightly around Malfoy's wand at night.

Suddenly, Malfoy closed his eyes and parted his lips, allowing their tongues to come into contact.

Harry closed his eyes, too.

It wasn't like his kisses with Ginny, or with anybody else. It was by no means loving, or tender, or sweet. It was a challenge, it was uncertain and it was unpredictable.

It wasn't awful, and Harry didn't move away.

Their lips were moving quicker, and Malfoy's grip was getting tighter, and the room was getting even hotter…

The sound of glass breaking echoed around the pub, and Harry and Malfoy gasped and jumped apart.

Malfoy still looked dazed, and he sat back in his seat with his hand over his lips, as though he couldn't believe what he had just done, but Harry turned in his seat, his Auror instincts taking over as his eyes darted all around the room, trying to work out where the loud noise had just come from.

After a few seconds, he caught sight of the broken glass on the floor by the bar. Slowly, he looked upwards and noticed that Madam Rosmerta was standing over the glass, her mouth open, her eyes wide and her finger pointing in the direction of Harry's table.

Harry almost felt relieved as he realised that she had probably just dropped a glass in shock at seeing him and Malfoy kissing. Then, he quickly decided that 'shocked' would be too light a word to use to describe her reaction.

Harry only hoped that Cecelia hadn't seen the kiss as well.

He knew that it would now be extremely difficult to simply return to kissing Malfoy with Madam Rosmerta staring at them like that, and also with several customers beginning to throw curious glances in their direction, but at the same time, now that he was no longer kissing Malfoy, Harry was surprised to discover that in a strange way, he actually missed it. He felt like he wanted to do it again, in spite of the awkwardness of the situation.

He hadn't seen hearts, or stars, or flowers, or whatever else the protagonists of Molly Weasley's romance novels saw when they realised that they were in love. He wasn't even experiencing a sudden rush of affection, or happiness, or any sort of romantic feeling for that matter. He was fairly sure that he still disliked Malfoy, and he was still prepared to argue with him if he said something else to annoy him.

But the kiss hadn't been awful. Far from it.

Perhaps it wasn't love, but whatever it was, Harry wanted more.

He turned back to Malfoy, who seemed to be trying his best to regain his composure.

"Outside, now!" Harry demanded, embarrassed at how desperate he sounded.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry threw a few Sickles onto the table, hoping that they would be enough to cover the cost of his drinks, and Malfoy's treacle tart.

After another quick glance in Madam Rosmerta's direction, he decided that it would perhaps be a good idea to offer some sort of tip as a way of compensating for her moment of shock, and also the broken glass. Hurriedly, he added a few Galleons to the pile of Sickles.

He stood up, almost knocking his chair over as he did so.

He was somewhat surprised by his eagerness to get outside. He was only mildly surprised, however, to note that the room still appeared to be spinning around, and his vision was slightly blurred.

He managed to focus his eyes on Malfoy, who looked as dazed and confused as Harry felt. "Outside," he repeated, trying to fight off another flush of embarrassment as his voice shook, perhaps with excitement, but more likely with a hint of fear.

Harry had no desire to hold Malfoy's hand, but he wasn't above tugging insistently on the sleeve of his robes as he started to move away from the table.

As he practically ran towards the pub door, trying his best not to trip over his robes, Harry was momentarily grateful for his current state of tipsiness, as he was certain that he would have felt even more nervous and embarrassed without a little support from one too many glasses of Butterbeer.

It was only when he stepped outside and felt the chill of the cool night air on his face that Harry was finally able to sober up ever so slightly and really start to think about what he was doing.

As he shivered with cold and took a few deep breaths, he realised that he hadn't even asked Malfoy if _he _had liked the kiss, or if he had felt anything, or if he wanted to kiss again. Harry had barely asked himself the same questions. He also realised, with a wave of something that felt like disappointment, that Malfoy hadn't even followed him outside, and he had definitely remained seated when Harry left the table.

Harry's feeling of disappointment didn't last for long. In fact, it went away altogether when he heard the sound of footsteps behind him.

He turned around slowly, even though he already knew who would be standing behind him. Harry had recognised the sound of his footsteps and his breathing, and even the faint smell of treacle tart. He had always been able to sense Malfoy's presence back at Hogwarts, and now, after spending most of the evening with him, he felt like he was starting to develop this skill all over again.

The two of them stood still, staring intently at one other.

In a matter of seconds, Harry found himself pinned against the nearest wall, and before he could ask himself any more questions, his lips were on Malfoy's again, both of them sharing almost frantic kisses, as though they were afraid that one of them would suddenly Apparate away and end this strange moment between the two of them.

Their kisses might have been more passionate and more heated than their first kiss indoors, but the moment was by no means any less awkward. Sometimes, their teeth clashed instead of their tongues, and Harry, unused to having somebody pressed so tightly against him after being out of practice for a few years, stumbled a few times and was forced to grab hold of the wall behind him to steady himself, and eventually, he decided that he was no longer comfortable with his glasses being pushed up against his face, so he had to pause briefly to remove them and stuff them into the pocket of his robes, trying his best not to blush.

Yet he couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of relief at the fact that it didn't _have_ to be perfect. There was no pressure for whatever they were doing to last forever, or to lead to a happy ending, and he no longer felt obliged to find happiness with the perfect person in order to help the _Daily Prophet _journalists to sell more newspapers. In fact, Harry was fairly certain that he never wanted to talk to any journalists ever again. For once, he was free to enjoy a kiss and to make mistakes without anybody watching from a distance, waiting to see what the outcome would be. He had never felt more free in his life.

It definitely wasn't the same as any of his kisses with women. Everything was different, from the feel of Malfoy's lips on his, to the feel of his body against his, and even the texture of the skin on Malfoy's hands every time they brushed against Harry's. Yet in spite of the obvious differences, the whole thing felt strangely familiar, from the rush of adrenaline to the challenge that hung in hair with every movement or discreet glance when they both opened their eyes at the same time. This feeling of familiarity was enough to temporarily prevent Harry from asking himself all sorts of confusing questions about his feelings and his preferences.

After several minutes of being pinned against the wall by Malfoy, Harry decided that he didn't want him to have full control of the situation, so he pushed himself away from the wall and out of Malfoy's grip, and reversed their positions.

Malfoy seemed happy with this change of position for a while, but after a couple of minutes, he pushed Harry away and moved him back against the wall.

They carried on in this way for several more minutes, pushing and shoving and fighting to be in control, barely breaking their kiss for more than a few seconds as they moved around.

Harry felt the unique rush of adrenaline that he had only ever felt during the Gryffindor versus Slytherin matches, when the two of them had been soaring through the air on their broomsticks, battling each other to get to the Snitch first. It was a thrill that Harry had never really been able to feel again after he left Hogwarts, up until this moment outside the Three Broomsticks.

In the end, Malfoy appeared to grow tired of their pushing and shoving, because he grabbed hold of Harry's hand and held it against the wall, momentarily preventing Harry from moving away from the wall again.

Harry squeezed Malfoy's hand tightly, feeling strangely comforted by the feeling of holding Malfoy's hand firmly in his. He knew that now that he had finally allowed Malfoy to take his hand, he didn't want to let him go. He didn't want Malfoy to walk out of his life again, the way that he had done after the Battle of Hogwarts.

In spite of this realisation that he didn't want to let go of Malfoy's hand, Harry was still fairly certain that it wasn't love. Malfoy was a good kisser, but he didn't really _like _him any more than he had liked him at the start of the evening, even though he felt that maybe they understood each other better now.

More importantly, if they decided to stay in each other's lives, Harry already understood that there would be many serious issues that they would have to discuss. He knew what he would find under Malfoy's robes, on his chest and on his left arm, and he would have to be prepared for that. Their rivalry would always be there, no matter what. There would be arguments, accusations, friends and families, and their behaviour in the past would no doubt be brought up in every single argument.

Harry knew all of this, but for now, he simply wanted to live in the present and enjoy the moment, without having to worry about what would happen in the future.

Deciding that if he _really_ wanted to get a sense of how much he liked it, it would perhaps be a good idea to take things a bit further, Harry finally let go of Malfoy's hand and used his now free hand to touch Malfoy's hair, overcome with curiosity as to whether it felt as soft as it looked. He quickly decided that it was even softer. Then, he used both hands to touch as much of Malfoy as he could, from his face to the back of his neck to his arms.

Malfoy seemed to catch on fairly quickly, because he used his own hands to explore Harry's body, before moving his lips away from Harry's so that he could kiss along his jaw line and then his neck.

There was no question as to whether Harry liked it, because he could actually hear himself groaning in appreciation, and his body was responding accordingly.

He felt like a teenager again, young and inexperienced, but determined to compete against the object of his teenage obsession.

When he first left his job at the Ministry of Magic, Harry had been convinced that he had simply been missing Hogwarts, and that by returning to teach there, he would find everything that he needed. But now, he was sure that really, he had been missing the Gryffindor versus Slytherin Quidditch games, the smell of treacle tart and broomstick handles, the sense of competition. He had missed having somebody there to challenge him, to disagree with him, to remind him that he was only human, rather than the perfect, untouchable Saviour of the wizarding world. He had missed having somebody to obsess over, somebody to follow around, somebody unpredictable and mysterious who he could attempt to understand.

In his own strange way, he had missed Draco Malfoy.

And, if everybody in the wizarding world had somehow managed to work this out long before Harry had, then maybe they had been right all along.

"You know," Harry heard himself mutter, "perhaps everybody has a point."

"A point about what?" Malfoy asked him, sounding like he couldn't care less.

"About us having secret feelings for each other?" Harry explained, wondering why he was even bothering to talk, when the feeling of Malfoy's lips on his neck felt so good.

"Potter, nobody thinks that."

It actually took Harry several moments to process what he had just heard. "What?" he eventually asked Malfoy, sounding completely out of breath.

When Malfoy didn't respond, Harry grabbed hold of his arms and pushed him away slightly, preventing him from continuing with kissing his neck.

Malfoy sighed heavily, looking disappointed that their kissing and groping session had been interrupted.

Harry was almost tempted to simply release his grip on Malfoy's arms and go back to kissing him, but in the end, curiosity (and the vague suspicion that he might have walked himself into another trap) got the better of him, and he decided that he needed an answer. "What did you just say?" he demanded, trying to sound more authoritative this time.

"Nobody thinks that," Malfoy repeated with a casual shrug, as though this were the most obvious fact in the world. "I made it up."

"What…nobody?" Harry asked slowly, in the unlikely event that he had misheard.

Malfoy nodded. "Nobody."

Harry stared at him with his eyes wide. "No bands sing songs about our apparent secret love?"

"Not that I know of. Unless you count a few lyrics written and performed by a drunken Theodore Nott at the end of our nights out in Hogsmeade..."

"No elderly witches talk about us over tea at Madam Puddifoot's?"

"No."

"Not even the young witches and wizards at the Leaky Cauldron?"

"Definitely not."

Malfoy attempted to move his body closer to Harry's again, but Harry continued to hold his arms in a firm grip, waiting for a further explanation.

Malfoy sighed in apparent exasperation. "Nott and Zabini bought every volume of your official biography for my birthday, no doubt thinking that it would be some sort of _hilarious _joke birthday present," he explained with a roll of his eyes, looking like he hadn't found the joke funny at all. "As I said before, Potter, I really don't think that my friends hate you as much as you think. Anyway, in the end, curiosity got the better of me and I decided to read your story…I think a part of me was hoping that I would be able to report you to the Ministry of Magic if I found that you had said something _awful _about my family. But, as I was reading about the two of us, I started to come up with a few theories of my own, or perhaps it was simply one important theory that I had subconsciously been thinking about for a while, and your biography forced me to admit it. So, I decided to find you to discuss it, but I didn't think that you'd believe me if I said that it was just my own personal theory, so I had to invent a few details…

Harry continued to stare at Malfoy, trying his best to understand his explanation, and wondering why he hadn't worked everything out at the beginning of their conversation. It all seemed so obvious now.

"And," Malfoy continued, "Pansy and Goyle _were_ sitting on the other side of the pub when I first approached your table. They were convinced that you would try to hex me the moment I attempted to talk to you, so I asked them to come along for some…moral support. They left as soon as you invited me to sit down."

As he finished speaking, Malfoy definitely looked smug. The more Harry's eyes widened in shock, the more he smirked triumphantly, looking thrilled that he had got one over on him. It was as though he had wrestled Harry to the ground and snatched the Golden Snitch right out of his hand before Harry had even realised what was going on.

Eventually, Harry was able to talk again. "You haven't changed one bit," he practically growled.

"Neither have you," Malfoy responded.

With that, their bodies were pressed up together again, with Harry taking out his anger at Malfoy's deception through the increased intensity of their kisses.

"Honestly, Potter," he heard Malfoy sigh between kisses, "nobody goes to the Leaky Cauldron to discuss your love life."

Malfoy definitely hadn't changed. This was the only conclusion that Harry was able to reach as he felt his rival's arms wrap tightly around his waist. He was still the smug, arrogant Slytherin who thought nothing of manipulating a situation to achieve his ends. He still took pleasure in Harry's anger and embarrassment. He still loved arguing with Harry. The insults still fell easily from his lips.

Malfoy hadn't changed, and neither had Harry. And yet, they were still standing together outside the pub, kissing each other, holding on to each other, unable to leave each other alone.

As Malfoy whispered something about how he didn't live too far from Hogsmeade, and Harry nodded in understanding, deciding that in spite of his anger, it might be interesting to continue to prove this imaginary theory in a more private place, he also decided that the younger members of the wizarding world were definitely wrong about one thing: there was no perfect person for Draco Malfoy who would help him to change for the better. Malfoy would never _really _change. He would always be who he was, with all of his flaws and his insults and his sneers.

But then, in spite of many idealistic newspaper articles claiming otherwise, perhaps there was no perfect person for Harry, either. Because in reality, Harry was far from perfect himself, and, like Malfoy, he would never really change, either.

Perhaps perfect partners and happy endings simply didn't exist. Perhaps happiness could instead be found in games of Quidditch, slices of treacle tart, rushes of adrenaline, challenges, victories, Hogwarts and passionate kisses at the Three Broomsticks.

Neither of them was perfect, Harry thought as Malfoy prepared to Apparate them away, so perhaps they could just enjoy not being perfect, together.

Perhaps nobody had really come up with any theories, but on Monday morning, when Harry arrived late for work with dishevelled hair, his robes fastened incorrectly and what he was sure was a very Hufflepuff-like grin plastered on his face, and he then had to endure a whole day of raised eyebrows and knowing smirks from Cecelia, all of her friends and even Neville Longbottom, he had a strange feeling that fairly soon, everybody in the wizarding world would be coming up with a whole lot of new theories about Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy.


End file.
